Dabbling
by Lemontention
Summary: A collection of Draco x Harry 100-word drabbles. Theme-based. Some are connected, some aren't.
1. 1-4

.Rain.

He held open his palm. The droplets hit his skin, clear and cool. He wished his head was like the raindrops. It wasn't though. It was a ranging storm, a category five hurricane.

What was he doing?

What were these feelings?

It was foreign. He didn't like foreign. He visited Thailand once – the heat and food didn't settle with him, and the friendly smiles of the muggles enraged him.

He felt his heart flutter. Internally, he shouted at the organ in his chest to return to its half-dead state.

He wasn't in love, especially not with the boy who lived.

.Mistletoe.

It was December, the dreaded month where sparkles decked the hall and green leaves sprouted from the ceiling.

Draco hated mistletoe. He hated it with the same level of passion his father had for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Squealing girls from all the houses watched him, waiting for him to fall beneath one of the green bushels so they could steal a kiss.

Walking down the halls of Hogwarts, Draco kept his eyes on the ceiling, reminding himself that Christmas break was days away. It seemed he was in luck; he'd make it to potions without a mishap.

Well, until he kissed Harry.

.Presents.

Draco was not having a good Christmas. First, he kissed Harry (by accident, of course, a ridiculous spell the teachers had cast to make any student under the mistletoe kiss the other; he would never kiss Harry voluntarily). Secondly, he was forced to stay at Hogwarts last minute due to some "family emergency". Blah. And lastly, it was Christmas day and he only had fourteen presents.

They weren't bad, he supposed. His mother got him what he wanted, and his father always catered to his dark desires. It was the fourteenth present though that enraged him; the prank from Harry.

.Christmas.

It was well established that Draco's Christmas cheer was missing. Even the dunderheads Crabbe and Goyle had taken notice.

At dinner, Draco listlessly pushed around his food. At breakfast, he didn't even spare a glance at the festive holiday muffins, let alone a bite. His mood was so sour in fact, that even the normally depressing Slytherin common room would send a muggle emo running in terror.

It was so bad that the golden trio had taken note, particularly Harry who recalled the forced mistletoe kiss quite vividly.

Sick of the moping, Harry marched across the hall and kissed him.


	2. 5-6

I'll probably turn these two into multichaps once I have more time to write them out.

* * *

.Promises.

At least Harry had kept his promise. The Dark Lord was dead.

Draco sat in the cage, listlessly resting his head against the cold metal bars. Around him people shouted various words, some hateful and others remorseful.

His mother was safe. He wasn't.

The black ink that stained his skin was the mark, The Dark Mark. It branded him as a traitor to Wizardkind, as bad as they came. He didn't fight, didn't tell them it was for his mother and his mother alone that he took the mark.

He just let it come, let them drag him into darkness.

.New Beginnings.

Draco stared up at the brick building. A cold wind brushed against his skin, sending a shiver skittering down his spine.

He stood in Godric's hollow, hands clutching onto his tattered robes, tiredly staring at the building in front of him. It was Potter's house; rebuilt on the ruins of the death place of Lily and James.

He started towards the door, pushed forward by the howl of a dog in the distance. He knocked.

Potter creaked open the door. "M-Malfoy?" he stuttered. "But you're… They said…"

The disheveled blond fell forward, clinging to the Man-Who-Lived. "Please… Please help me."


	3. 7-10

.Safe.

His sneers, his slanted eyes, his barbed tongue. They're safety; a costume to dawn.

His father expected it of him, that mask of cruelness. When his mask cracked, so did his father's. Unlike Draco's mask, Lucius's mask didn't hide kindness – a frail and gentle heart. It hid hatred – a balled fist and an anger akin to hellish flames. Safety came with the mask.

Draco had worn that mask for years; so long, that it had become his face. But then he smiled, black hair sticking out in all directions, and Draco felt the crack of his safety, of his mask.

.Sound.

Draco loved that sound.

It was hard to describe, that sound. It was so beautiful that words, he felt, would do it an injustice. Still, he felt obligated to try.

In simple terms it was a groan. It was a throaty groan the reverberated in his soul. It was hearty, intoxicating. It was such a thing that made his knees weak and his toes curl. It set his blood a fire when Harry let in slip past his lips, and sent him through a tumultuous whirlwind of pleasure, happiness, and euphoria. It was a gift from god, simple as that.

.Dark.

Every step forward felt like one step into darkness.

It started with arrogance. It was childish. Truly, it was the words of a child who'd been raised to believe that he was simply better for some arbitrary, uncontrollable reason.

Then it hit a milestone: a word. Mudblood. It was no longer arrogance, it was hatred.

And then it… Then it truly became darkness. It was the day he bowed to the lord, and let the ink set into his forearm. Then was a line crossed into irrevocable darkness.

It was a darkness hard to escape, perhaps impossible to completely escape.

.Light.

There was darkness.

It was a suffocating darkness that gripped him with iron fists and tugged on his everything – his soul, his heart, his head, his hair, his arrogance, _him_. It was a darkness that threatened to overwhelm him; to break him and shatter him.

"_Lumos."_

And then there was light. A good light that made him smile, heady on the sudden clarity with which he could see what hid in the darkness.

And he had him to thank. Once an enemy, now a savior. Was this irony? He didn't know, he just smiled and thank his savior: Harry Potter.


End file.
